Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series

by Vaiya Books

  Wondering what was going on, he watched as the king strode forward displeased, as if he’d been interrupted right as he was about to discover the clue to a dark mystery. “Follow me, boy,” commanded the king, quietly flinging out his left arm to the side, a quick gesture that appeared to signal the end of the conversation.

  Bowing lowly to him, knowing that he was headed to the evening feast as Azadar had mentioned it to him earlier, Ian followed the king obediently, his heart still racing from the heated conversation.

  As for the king, slightly wrinkling his forehead, he turned his back to Ian, his purple robe flowing elegantly behind him, while dismissing Azadar who quickly exited the room. Striding towards the dining hall, a troubled look in his eyes, the king appeared entirely dissatisfied with the feast, as if he’d just been about to figure something out before he was forced to stop abruptly.

  Though Ian could relate to his disappointment as his mom had told him today to go inside and eat supper just when he was about to try to replicate his skilled basketball shot, he felt little sympathy for Kadeth.

  Watching the king cautiously, not knowing when he should follow, and not wanting to trail him, Ian kept a wide berth and waited until the king reached the other end of the room before following him. Anxiety crawled through his skin. He felt like a man on death row eating his last meal. He’d escaped the interrogation for now, but he knew that later it would only come back stronger. This feast was only a minor delay in the king’s plans. It wouldn’t go well. It couldn’t.

  Chapter 7

  Exiting the throne room, Ian passed under a high arched doorway, as he watched the king open a wide silver door and stride into the banquet hall with an unusually regal air about him, as if to show even more vividly the contrast between himself and the young human trailing behind him.

  Watching his dignified bearing with annoyance, Ian, keeping a fifteen-foot distance from him, lifted his head up high, put a noble stride into his steps, and smiled faintly with a dignified appearance that he’d copied directly from King Kadeth’s eldest son Prince Taishan. The king wouldn’t get the privilege of shaming him in front of everyone for his ignoble manners. Even though he had no experience in being courtly and gallant, he knew enough to get by and like a chameleon could quickly adjust to whatever circumstances were in front of him. He wouldn’t let the king make a mockery of him.

  Reaching the silver door the king had opened over twenty seconds ago, Ian walked through it, his eyes instantly flaming with astonishment; the place was enormous!

  Though Hazel’s basement had impressed him earlier that evening, it was nothing compared to this gigantic banquet hall. From the marble ceiling, towering fifty feet above him, hung hundreds of ornate gold-plated chandeliers with jade, garnet, topaz, coral, amethyst, sapphire, and beryl lighting fixtures that spread a beautiful rainbow of hues throughout the hall.

  The walls all around him sparkled with vivid and colorful murals of peaceful streams, untouched forests, and snow-capped mountains that blended so nicely he couldn’t even tell where one had stopped and the other had begun. These 3D-looking murals captivated his imagination and overwhelmed his heart.

  Any second, he expected to see a weary traveler in the distance climbing up the top of one of the formidable mountains, a fierce jaguar peering out at him from the dark, verdant forests with their glowing yellow eyes, or a sailor disturbing the calm water with his oars; but after staring at the murals for a while, he eventually gave up searching for them and scanned around the rest of the lavishly decorated room.

  The first thing that caught his attention was four magnificent rectangular tables in front of him. Each one of the long tables ran down the length of the gigantic hall, leaving only ten feet of space to the walls on either side of them, and each one was covered with gold and silver platters laden with various kinds of rolls, meats, vegetables, and desserts. Tall, silver ornamented stands on top of the tables contained luscious-looking berries and lavender-colored strawberries, or so they appeared to him.

  Mouth now watering from the pleasant aromas that wafted through the air, Ian watched as the king sat down on the far end of the second table on a large golden chair and started whispering to his sons, a hostile war-like look emanating from his cold green eyes.

  Intimidated, wanting to sit down as soon as possible, for many elves, in particular, the elven queen, kept on staring at him with subdued interest in their eyes, he, nonetheless, glanced around him in confusion, not knowing where to sit. Should he sit as far away from the king as possible? near the king? or somewhere in the middle?

  His first instinct was to sit away from the king since he was of a much lower rank, wasn’t even an elf, and had nearly been imprisoned earlier, yet that very act could be looked upon with suspicion as if Ian wanted to avoid further conversation with him. If he sat near the king though, it could appear as if he were boasting himself to be somebody great when he hadn’t the slightest drop of royal blood in his veins. He hated this dilemma.

  Standing in the middle of a room in front of all these elves, most of whom were now watching him with looks of cold indifference and stoic disinterest, Ian took a relaxed breath and slowly approached the table, trying to appear as regal as he could as he battled inwardly over where to sit. Fortunately, before he had to make a choice, the decision was made for him, as the king motioned for him to sit between two young splendidly robed elves, whom Ian recognized from earlier as the king’s sons. Why they’d left that random spot open for him seemed more than just coincidence. Whatever their plans were, he already feared them.

  Apprehensive, Ian took his seat nervously, a sinking feeling in his heart, as the strong aromas from the princes’ sweet expensive cologne surrounded him. Even though the fragrances smelled surprisingly good, Ian found it more than a bit strange that males would be wearing such strong scents. If he came into school with such potent cologne on, he could only imagine the looks the girls would give him.

  Smiling slightly to himself at that thought, he glanced around at them, taking in their noble postures, their majestic yellow robes, and their powerful countenances, which exuded confidence and authority, and his temperature immediately rose, his smile entirely vanishing. What could be worse than sitting between two elven princes, people nearly his same age who were much more educated, regal, handsome, and wealthy than he?

  Anxiety battering against all his attempts to remain dignified and poised, Ian observed the king, seated two down from him near the elven queen, gaze at him with displeasure.

  As they made eye contact with each other, however, the king spoke to him in a surprisingly relaxed and friendly tone: “Ian, beside me is my wife, Queen Jahla Riverstone, co-ruler of Amalon.”

  As he motioned for her to talk, she greeted him pleasantly. “May fortune reign down upon you, Ian.” She smiled at him warmly, a direct contrast to the way her husband had initially greeted him, her long reddish brown hair somehow complementing her olive-green eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty,” he stammered, as they gave him a strange look for his weird greeting. After a brief bout of silence, he felt like adding some nicety about her having a charming name or a beautiful dress, but thought against it. It would probably only make things worse.

  Waiting in suspense as an eerie stillness blanketed the conversation, Ian shuffled in his black marble chair padded with a feathery butterscotch-colored cushion, as he felt the eyes of the princes beside him bore into him. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he was introduced to them. He was right.

  “And over here are my two sons.” The king glanced at them, acknowledging their presences to Ian.

  As the king gave Ian an aloof smile and motioned for his sons to speak, Ian felt himself growing sick from uneasiness and struggled to keep a pleasant face. Though he succeeded somewhat in that he didn’t look thoroughly miserable, he didn’t look cheerful either.

  On a normal day, this would’ve really bothered him, as he could almost always mask his emotions
and feelings. Today, however, circumstances as they were, this didn’t really bother him that much; his appearance was the least of his problems.

  As he leaned back in his chair to loosen up, already anticipating the prince’s words, the eldest looking of the two greeted him: “Blessings and strength to you, Ian,” he said rather indifferently, a shining silver diadem glistening upon his forehead, his fine auburn hair flowing halfway down his neck, his pointed ears giving him a noticeably elven look: “I am Taishan, eldest son of King Kadeth and Queen Jahla.”

  “And I am Prince Saku, youngest son of King Kadeth and Queen Jahla,” said the prince on Ian’s right, a noble, yet warm tone in his voice, his emerald eyes glistening softly. “May you be graced with dignity and light.”

  Unused to such strange greetings, Ian parted his lips, a feeling of complete unworthiness sweeping over him; ready to murmur some thanks to them, he quickly decided against it. If they were anything like their father, any sort of dialogue could easily upset them, something he did not wish to do, as he currently seemed to be on their good sides. Better not to say more than was necessary.

  Troubling over these thoughts, Ian wrapped his face in a calm indifference, desperately hoping that the princes wouldn’t suspect that he was suspicious of them.

  Unfortunately, however, despite his nonchalant attitude, the eldest prince somehow seemed to have noticed his caution and hesitation. Secrecy clinging to him, he took up the conversation again, examining Ian thoroughly with his sparkling sapphire eyes. “My father has informed me that you’ve come from afar, Ian,” he said, with a dark steady gaze reminiscent of the Greek hero Theseus.

  “Yes, that’s right, Your Highness.” Ian nodded his head briefly, inwardly relieved that he’d remembered the title for dignitaries, while at the same time already not liking where this conversation was going.

  To add to his angst, Taishan dissected his words without any show of emotion, a quality, most likely elven, that he was starting to find very annoying, as it made it nearly impossible to tell what they were going to say next.

  As Ian prepared himself for the worst, Taishan surprised him by asking him a rather direct question. “So, why have you come here, Ian?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Your Highness,” he managed to stammer, glancing at him, while tapping his fingers nervously against his tunic under the table. What could he tell him? that he was upstairs all by himself in the attic at Hazel’s mansion when lightning had suddenly taken him here? No way. It didn’t even make sense to him. And, besides, this theory had already failed miserably with the king, so he had no reason to assume it would fare any better with him.

  Looking at the prince, who no doubt hated his vague response, Ian felt he had to add something, so he murmured anxiously, “I guess you could say I was drawn here, Your Highness.”

  A touch of frustration edged its way onto the prince’s face, although it was quickly subdued by an intrigued boldness. “Who drew you here?” he asked assertively, not able to conceal all of his curiosity, as he set a firm, yet graceful white hand on Ian’s shoulder.

  A new wave of fear immediately swept over Ian, as he wondered why he’d even added that last part about being drawn here. Not only had he so quickly failed in his resolve to not say more than was necessary, but his comment had only worsened the situation. Now everybody at this table probably thought that he was a spy sent on a mission by the dwarves. He wanted to lock himself away in the cellar of a remote monastery for his stupidity.

  Flinching with anxiety, feeling very unsettled that the prince’s hand was still on his shoulder, as he really didn’t like to be touched, especially not by royalty, Ian watched the prince’s face grow sterner by the moment and he knew he had to say something. After several seconds of hasty thought, he finally replied, “No specific person drew me here, Your Highness. I came here merely by accident.”

  Taking in this information thoughtfully, removing his hand nimbly from Ian’s shoulder, Taishan’s expression remained nearly the same, except for the slightest trace of doubt furrowing his brow, as he folded his hands and closed his eyes partway, keeping his courtly bearing. “By accident?” he asked, in a reserved manner. “Were you shipwrecked? Did the Verandel pirates banish you to this island?”

  Frustrated by the torrent of questions, Ian watched as many lavishly dressed elves took seats on the two long tables in front of him nearly filling them up. Surprisingly, however, none had sat on the table with the princes yet, as if they were trying to avoid them, or him. It worried him; he didn’t know what to make of it.

  Wary, he glanced over his shoulder at the prince and replied rather nervously, “Neither one, Your Highness.”

  Taishan raised an eyebrow. “Neither one?”

  A bolt of fear struck his heart. He was stuck. He had no choice now but to either make up a complete lie or tell the truth.

  Struggling with the decision, not able to come up with a convincing enough lie, he was forced to be honest, despite how phony and pathetic his story sounded. “Um …. I know this may sound odd to you,” he muttered, shifting nervously in his chair, “but I was actually teleported here by lightning, Your Highness.”

  Taishan’s eyes darkened immensely as he stared at Ian, his face somber and humorless. “Lightning has been known to break the dimensional seal in the past, and allow the user to shift from place to place. However, only one has ever yet harnessed this force.”

  “And who would that be?” asked Ian rather timidly, chilled by the prince’s cold tone.

  “His name is Zharmun, the leader of the Elayan, and he’s been dead for over two hundred and fifty years.” The prince stared straight at Ian piercing him through with his sapphire blue eyes as if they were shards of glass. “Do you dare claim the power of teleportation, a power only possessed by the Dark Lord?”

  “No, Your Highness,” Ian argued, trying to regain his composure both from his words and his accusation, deeply frightened that Zharmun in some invisible, immaterial form could possibly be living in Hazel’s attic right now. “I was forced against my will to come here. If I had my way, I’d be at a party right now.”

  “A party?” Taishan murmured, his face blank. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”

  Ian forced back his impatience. “It’s sort of like a social gathering, Your Highness.”

  Taishan gave him a look of understanding. “So lightning teleported you from there to here?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Ian replied, already completely sick of this polite form of address.

  An eerie glimmer crossed his face. “So you believe Zharmun to still be alive?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure what to think, Your Highness.”

  Looking slightly annoyed with his response, the prince wasted no more time with sharp questionings and got straight to the facts, his face turning as stern as a metal rod: “Though you say that you are here against your will, it has been divulged to us by Azadar Silverheart,” he began, pausing ominously, “that you are a spy for Tazik.” Gazing at him with faint curiosity, he added, “Do you deny his claims?”

  Ian tensed. “Yes, Your Highness,” he murmured, only managing to resist the urge to shout it because he was speaking to royalty. “There’s simply no proof. When he found me, I was taking a nap. What kind of spy does that?” His tone was far from polite, even accusatory, yet he couldn’t do much about it. He’d never had any experience with such polite etiquette and customs, and who could blame him? The last thing he’d expected when he’d woken up this morning was that he’d be eating with elven royalty at a lavish feast. He simply wasn’t prepared.

  As he waited anxiously for his response hoping he’d buy into this logic, the prince stared at him with a glimmer of kindness in his eyes. “What you say is true, Ian,” he said candidly. “No spy that I’ve read about has ever been caught sleeping.”

  Eyes wide, Ian nearly jolted out of his seat, not anticipating him to agree so easily. Staring nervously at the handsome pr
ince, having no real good answer for him, Ian replied gratefully, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  As the eldest prince’s eyes widened slightly at his thankful face before quickly becoming impassive and stolid, the king gazed darkly at Ian as if trying to intimidate him. With no one saying a word, the queen looking thoroughly uncomfortable, it was a welcome relief when Saku, a warm-hearted smile on his face, spoke: “Ian, do you enjoy running?”

  Astonishment crossed his face, both from his happy appearance and his words. Had Prince Saku even been listening to the former conversation? And did the prince somehow know that running was his favorite sport? “Running, Your Highness?” Ian questioned.

  The prince just smiled, clearing up Ian’s confusion, as he swept his hand through his long golden hair. “Yes. Hasan Seavale informed me that you nearly managed to keep up with his stride. With you being a human that is remarkable.” Pausing, a good-natured twinkle in his eyes, he then added offhandedly, “Do you run in the Lavosk Marathon?”

  “Yes … I mean no,” Ian stumbled over his words in a blurred haste. Sure, he’d never heard of the Lavosk Marathon before, but Saku didn’t have to know that. “Why do you ask, Your Highness?”

  Once again, the prince smiled at him. “Because you have the swiftness and endurance for it,” he said--a sharp contrast to that of Coach Sandler’s unelaborate compliment earlier that day--before adding with a daring look, “If you were ever to run in the marathon, I would expect an uncontested victory from you.”

  Startled by his words, Ian shifted nervously in his chair again, trying in vain to shrug off the heavy, if not flattering, compliment. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he replied, bowing his head slightly to him, now feeling strangely guilty for turning down Coach Sandler. “That means a lot coming from you.”

  Lowering his eyebrows, his cheerful smile diminishing somewhat, Prince Saku puzzled over the meaning of his last sentence, before clasping his hands to his heart, a rapid gesture that surprised Ian, a warm glow reappearing in his eyes. Before he could break into further dialogue with Ian, however, the king announced the arrival of the elven Princess Saeya as she strode solemnly into the room, her ruby encrusted teal sandals clicking as they touched the gilded floor. Filling his silver goblet with a bluish liquid, Prince Saku smiled at her, as she made her way to the side of the table opposite him.